


Certain Victory

by black_lodge



Series: Requiem For the Living [1]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5613628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_lodge/pseuds/black_lodge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War games start early in the House of Hellsing. (Integra is 5.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Certain Victory

Already that morning he had dealt with two solicitors, an inebriated cook (who had been fired on the spot), and – since Arthur’s fever hadn’t yet abated - a call from the Iscariot organization, which had been supremely unpleasant. And now delirious Arthur had demanded that he reorder this section of the house library for some inscrutable purposes which Arthur would probably forget by the end of the week, if he hadn’t done so already.

Altogether, Walter was not in a pleasant mood.

 

He heard the door squeak softly behind him and knew who it was right away, but he smiled to himself, whistling softly as he picked up the pace, putting the books back in alphabetical order by author’s last name – Baker, Bridges, Brody, Clark, Clowney, Coleman, Crabb…. He felt the floorboards creak beneath him as she approached, and as he drew breath there was the briefest silence. And then – 

“BANG!”

Walter dropped the book he’d been filing and clutched at his chest theatrically, letting his legs buckle out from under him and sank gently to the floor. “Oh, you got me,” he said, and turned to look over his shoulder at her. His face promptly split into a grin.

Integra, five years old and not even three feet tall, stood before him, wearing one of the ancient gas masks that had been left over in the store rooms from World War II. Walter had no idea how she’d come across it, but he could guess – after all, she did live in the headquarters of what was technically an army, and such paraphernalia could be found practically anywhere in the house.

He could just see her eyes through the mask’s large plastic goggles, and they looked decidedly put out. “Stop laughing,” she ordered him, gesturing with her hand like a gun. “You’re dead.” Her voice came tinnily through the filter can.

It took some effort, but Walter managed to calm himself and assumed a pained expression, once again playing along. “Of course, Miss. Very good shot.” And he keeled over against the cabinet upon which he had been working, effectively dead.

After a moment, he felt her tug on his shirtsleeve. He opened one eye.

“Okay, you’re alive again. Get up.”

Walter stood obediently and watched as she scratched at the rubber straps around the back of her head.

“It’s itching me,” she said, and struggled to get the mask off; Walter ended up helping her loosen it and soon she freed herself. “Peter gave it to me. He was cleaning and said this one was detective.”

“Defective?” said Walter, and took the mask from her to examine it. Sure enough, the rubber seal had begun to rot away from the filter canister. “Good enough for around the house,” he told her, and handed the mask back. “Go show your father.”

She pulled the mask back on and ran out the door. Walter could hear her tiny feet thumping down the wood floor of the outside hallway; he smiled and got back to work.


End file.
